Indecent Exposure
by Night Monkey
Summary: General Cross's womanizing and drinking finally gets him into serious trouble. Robbed of his dignity and his clothes, he's forced to make a run for it in the middle of winter. Will he ever change his ways? No.


Another one-shot done when I could spare the time from school. Multi-chapter someday, but not yet. Sorry!

Summary: General Cross's womanizing and drinking finally gets him into serious trouble. Robbed of his dignity and his clothes, he's forced to make a run for it in the middle of winter. Will he ever change his ways?

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That was the absolute, final, last time he was ever going to give into the temptations of an Irish woman. General Cross, stark-naked except for his hat and his hastily retrieved Innocence, ran down the mercifully empty hotel hall. Drunk as he was, he kept running into the wall and knocking into the doors of other hotel guests. He tried to be silent and stealthy, but his feet wouldn't carry him in a straight line.

Behind him, the door at the end of the hall opened. The scrawny, ginger-haired woman stuck her hateful head out the door. She held out the bag full of money she had stolen from Cross, and shook it. Cross wished she was an Akuma, so he could shoot her in the face. However evil she may have been, she was still human, at least genetically.

The Irish woman sneered. Still clutching her ill-begotten loot, she opened her big maw and shouted, "There's a naked man parading out in the hall! Someone phone for the police!"

All the doors around Cross banged open. Several people, noting that a naked man was indeed standing out in the hall, swiftly slammed the doors shut and locked them. One woman, an old prudish prune, howled in indignation. A young couple, maybe on their honeymoon, pointed at Cross and burst into laughter.

Doubtlessly, behind the locked doors, someone was calling the police. Cross had to make his grand escape soon. He was a General in the Black Order, but it didn't seem like cops or civilians particularly cared. Most of them didn't even know the Order existed. They would think his talk about fighting demons, and Noah, and some fat clown who glided around on an umbrella was just the excessive alcohol he consumed making noise.

His own hotel was over fifteen blocks away, in a much nicer and more expensive part of town. He normally didn't bed girls in places like this, but that Irish broad had been so cute in her little green dress. Besides, she had offered him booze, and lots of it. He had probably drunk his way through an entire wine cellar, watching O'-something or other sway in that dress.

And now he was paying for it. Ignoring the stares and the laughter, Cross stumbled for the stairs. A waiter baring a platter of food met him on the landing. Cross snatched the tray, dumped its contents and used it to cover his bare front. Thanking the waiter in a slurred voice, the General hurried down.

The bottom floor was busier than the second story. A few people were checking in, or sorting through their wallets and purses for money. They all stopped to ogle the man wearing only a hat, gun belt, and silver serving tray. A woman accompanied by several children tried to cover the young ones' eyes.

"She made me drunk! It isn't my fault!" Cross proclaimed.

The hotel manager, blushing furiously, ran from the front desk and grabbed Cross by the elbow. The General did not like being manhandled, but wasn't going to shoot this guy either. Still no Akuma, damn it.

"Out, get out, and don't even think about coming back. Drunken lout." The manager said. He guided Cross to the front door and gave him a shove out onto the street.

"The Irishwoman has my pants!"

"We'll have her mail them to you. Get out of my hotel now!"

Cross found himself standing out in the cold. At least the manager hadn't confiscated the tray. Cross had to suppose the poor fellow wouldn't want it back, not after it had been used in such close proximity to naked skin.

It was a long, bitter walk to his hotel. Cross growled under his breath. It was times like this he wished that Allen kid was still around. He could just show that no-good freckled nightmare the kid's deformed arm, and she'd mistake him for some kind of demon, probably go shrieking from her room. He could also dump those annoying tabs for room service no doubt piled into a paper tower back in his hotel on Allen. As was, even if he did get back without his feet freezing to the cobblestones, he'd have to sneak out with Maria's help to avoid paying his debts.

The General began a drunken jog down the street. His breath plumed out in a cloud, and the winter air numbed his extremities. His feet were so cold on the frozen ground he was almost ready to make a peace deal with the Millennium Earl if the fat-ass clown would just give him a pair of wool socks.

"Sir!"

Cross ignored the voice. He was freezing. He didn't have time to stop and chat with anyone. He needed to thaw out his toes.

"Sir, stop!"

He began to run faster, his feet padding against the earth. His skin had broken out in a fierce eruption of goosebumps. Cross began to curse Allen and his absence. The kid was doubtlessly somewhere with a fire, with shoes on his feet and a coat wrapped around his scrawny body.

"HALT!"

Cross knew a voice of authority when it shouted at him. He stopped and turned toward the voice. Whoever had ordered him to stop was running across the street, a whistle in her hand.

"Sir, are you aware of the fact you are naked?"

Cross looked down over his bare body. "Yes. I've been that way since I was thrown out of yonder hotel."

"Are you also aware of the fact it is the middle of November and below freezing?" The policewoman asked.

"Yes."

"And have you been drinking?"

Cross smiled. "Like a thirsty dog. The woman who has my pants, she can attest to that. She made me drunk, and that is not an easy feat. I can drink anyone under the table. She was only sober enough to rob me because she tricked me. She only pretended to drink. Shame, it was good wine, too."

"All right, so you were drinking with a woman, and she got you drunk so she could rob you? Where is this woman, now?"

Cross pointed down the street. "She's in that hotel, second floor, room 216. She's got a gun. She almost got Judgment, but it's an anti-Akuma weapon. No good to her."

"Anti-_Akuma_? Do you know a young boy, maybe fifteen years old, goes by the name of Allen Walker?" The officer asked.

"My pupil! Is he around? I'll skin him and wear the skin for warmth."

"Are you serious? Allen's a great kid. Besides, he looked pretty thin. Not much to actually wear. Speaking of which, because your butt is showing, would you like to borrow my coat for a while? Just until I can figure out what to do with you." The cop said.

Cross tried to look behind him, to make sure his ass was indeed hanging out. Every time he craned his neck, he almost lost his balance. Eventually, he decided to just take the officer's word for it.

The cop stripped off her coat, revealing her blue police uniform and a badge pinned to her chest. Cross leaned in close, getting joyously close to her breasts, and read the name off the badge.

"Moore. Moore adorable than that thief. Moore lovely than Venus. Moore-"

"One more pun and I'll have you in cuffs." Moore warned.

General Cross shut his mouth and accepted the coat. He tied it around his middle, eliminating the need for the silver tray. He didn't intend to give the serving tray back, however. He might be able to hock it for something.

"Were you staying with the woman who robbed you or do you have somewhere else to live? I'll retrieve your clothing after I know you won't freeze to death." Moore said.

"I've got my own hotel. She was nothing to me, nothing." Cross said.

"All right. Let's get going. I wish I had something to put on your feet, but my shoes would hardly fit on your big toe. Sorry."

"You could slide a little closer and share your body heat." The General suggested.

The officer shuddered. "No thank you, sir."

With Moore keeping a healthy distance between them, Cross began to doubt that he'd have any female company tonight. It would be the first time in eons that he had failed to coerce a woman into bed with him. Maybe his sweet-talking skills were getting rusty.

With a lovely brunette to keep his mind occupied, Cross soon forgot about how blue his feet were getting. He even forgot the explosions of goosebumps that dotted every inch of his skin. He even was able to get the image of the smirk the Irish thief wore when she pulled her gun on him out of his head. Good riddance to that image. To think, some peasant with an accent so thick it nearly choked her, and she had gotten the jump on him. Shameful. He had to make sure the Order never found out.

By the time the mismatched pair arrived in front of the brightly lit hotel, Cross had wormed his arm around Moore's shoulder and she was barely able to avoid shooting him in the groin. She was on duty, she did not find perverted older man attractive, and she did not like being touched by said creepy men! With no reluctance whatsoever, she ducked out of his grasp and practically ran into the hotel.

"Officer, something I can do for you?" The desk clerk asked.

"That man was robbed of his clothing and money, but he apparently has a room rented in this establishment. Can you, uh, escort him there quickly?" Moore asked.

Cross waved at the clerk. "You know what room, right?"

"Yes. You aren't an easy face to forget. Just follow the bellhop. He'll find you a robe somewhere, as well." The clerk said.

Bowing to Moore, Cross removed the borrowed coat. The bellboy covered his eyes. Moore blushed furiously and the desk clerk coughed. Ignoring how obviously uncomfortable she was around his now total nudity, the lecherous General handed her the coat.

Finally, the bellhop led Cross to an elevator. Moore sank into a nearby chair, holding her coat out in front of her with obvious disgust. The clerk eyed the garment that had been wrapped around Cross's waist.

"We can have that laundered for you, officer. You can pick it up whenever you are off duty." The man offered.

Moore threw him the coat. "You have the thanks of the entire police force."

Refusing all offers of coffee or tea, Moore headed out the door. The desk clerk asked where she was headed on such a cold night.

"I have to retrieve that charming gentleman's clothes. I can't allow unlawful activities, even against a man like him." Moore explained.

She had hardly made it outside the building when a window flew open several stories above her. Cross struck his head out the window, the wind blowing his long hair everywhere. "It's much warmer up here than down in the street! My feet are returning to their natural color! Would you like to see?"

Forget unlawful activities. That guy could collect his own pants in the morning, if the conniving Irishwoman hadn't run off with them. Moore secretly hoped she had. Ignoring Cross's increasingly desperate calls, she waked back towards Police Headquarters. She could pick up a new jacket before continuing her shift. Despite the thorough job the hotel was sure to do, Moore didn't even know if she wanted her old coat back. It would always feel dirty, like the strange man who had worn it like a loincloth.

Disappointed but not surprised, Cross removed his head from the window and shut it. He walked over to his bed, his nakedness covered by a soft, white bathrobe courtesy of the hotel. The General almost considered calling for maid-service, despite the lateness of the hour, and then trying to seduce whatever lovely strumpet showed up. However, the image of that policewoman selflessly handing over her coat stayed in his mind. Moore's memory would be more than enough for the night.

THE END!


End file.
